He had spread his wings, because that’s what Draconeans do when they’re off-balance. Miss Ashworth tried to urge him to do it again—safely away from the chairs—but at that point Lord Gleinleigh had had enough, and he got us all out the door in a tick, rudeness be damned.
So now I am back at Stokesley. I’m pretty sure Gleinleigh still hasn’t spoken to Kudshayn, and he said he’s leaving for town again tomorrow. Which he tried to sell as him clearing out so we could have some nice quiet time to work, but it’s hard not to read that as him running away from the awkwardness.
There’s certainly enough to run away from. He may claim to be a reformed Calderite, but now I am looking at everything he’s done since I came here and seeing it in a new, much less pleasant light. His insistence that we not share any information outside this house . . . I don’t know what purpose that might serve, apart from the obvious one of making it a grander reveal when we publish our translation, but if he wants secrecy, then I want insurance. I think I shall make copies of all our work, just to be on the safe side.
* * *
(And oh, Lady Plimmer. No one so concerned for propriety and courtesy could possibly have done that on accident. The old battle-axe may talk sweetly, but she sharpened her knives for Gleinleigh a long time ago, and she wanted me and Kudshayn to know just whose house we’ve been living in.)
Tablet VII: “The Samšin Tablet”
translated by Audrey Camherst and Kudshayn
Hastu spoke, wise Hastu, clear-sighted Hastu, Hastu the šiknas. He said, “This was foreseen in a dream long ago, before your hatching. The river of Ektabr has drowned the sun; the stone of Imalkit has crushed the sun; the grasses of Nahri have ensnared the sun; the mountain of Samšin has devoured the sun. The Light of the World is in the underworld now, and unless one of you goes to retrieve it, we will be caught in darkness forever.”1
The people were outraged to hear that the four were responsible. They took up their stones; they took up their clubs. But they could not bear to strike those upon whom they had depended for so long.
Samšin said, “If the Light of the World is in the underworld, we must certainly retrieve it. All four of us should go.”
But Hastu said, “No, because if all four of you are lost, then the people will be without protection. Only one will go, and the other three will stay to keep the horrors of the darkness at bay.”
Samšin was the bravest of the four, and the strongest. She said, “Then I will go, if you will show me where the gate of the underworld stands.”
The people wailed at her words, but their fear of losing the sun was greater than their fear of losing Samšin. Her sisters and her brother said, “If you must go by yourself, you will not go alone.” They gave her gifts: Nahri gave her food for her journey, Imalkit gave her a torch to light the way, and Ektabr gave her a prayer.
Hastu led Samšin to a ravine deeper than any other. Ten leagues, eleven leagues, twelve leagues deep was this abyss; it stretched to the depths of the earth. He left her there. With her food and her torch and her prayer she descended.
She came to the gate of the underworld. It was made from the bones of issur,2 bound with strips of āmu skin. Samšin knocked at it, and the lizma,3 the gatekeeper of the underworld, answered. The khashetta4 said, “What living creature seeks to enter the underworld, and why?”
She answered him with her wings spread. “I am Samšin, sun-gold, hatched from a single shell. I have come to retrieve the Light of the World.”
“You may enter,” the gatekeeper said, “but you may not return.” It opened the gate for her. Samšin entered the underworld.
She came into a chamber filled with broken eggshells. All around her she heard the thin cries of hatchlings, but she saw nothing alive. It was the place of hatchlings who die in the egg, because they cannot survive the place they are laid. She saw in front of her a many-coloured shell like the one her clutch had come from. She said, “We should not have lived to hatch. But we did, and I must find the Light of the World.”
She continued on to a chamber stained with blood. All around her she heard the screams of people being torn apart, but she saw nothing alive. It was the place of people killed by the beasts of the world. She felt over her the shadow of the issur5 she found in the desert, the issur that had bent its head to her hand. She said, “It should have killed me that day. But it did not, and I must find the Light of the World.”
She continued on to a chamber awash in salt water like the sea. All around her she heard the wailing of people, but she saw nothing alive. It was the place of those who have been undone by those they trusted. She felt a chill in her heart. She said, “I am still alive; my sisters are still alive; my brother is still alive. And I must find the Light of the World.”
She came to the fettra that guards the deepest abyss. The khashetta6 snarled at her, but she offered it the food Nahri had given her. It ate the food and was quiet.
Beyond the fettra was a tunnel. Imalkit’s torch lit the way. It became a tunnel too small for her to spread her wings. It became a tunnel too small for her to stand. Samšin crawled through and found herself in the presence of the Endless Maw,7 the Crown of the Abyss. It had the Maker of Above and Below in a cage.
Samšin offered it the prayer Ektabr had taught her. She said, “I am Samšin, the sun-gold, hatched from a single shell. I have come to retrieve the Light of the World.”
“You have entered,” the Crown of the Abyss said, “but you may not return. A cavern may give up what it has eaten, the sea may give up what it has drowned, a forest may give up what it has trapped, but the underworld does not give up anything it takes.”
Bold Samšin lifted her mace, saying, “My people need the Light of the World. Without it they starve; without it they wander in darkness. Without the Maker of Above and Below, the star demons prey upon them from the sky. For their sake, I cannot accept what you say.”
The Crown of the Abyss sent its many-legged khashetta8 against Samšin. They were the ones that bite at the heels of cowards; against brave Samšin they could do nothing. She swept them aside, four struck down with each swing of her arm. The khashetta scurried back into their holes.
The Crown of the Abyss sent its poisonous khashetta against Samšin. They were the ones that sting the eyes of the greedy; against noble Samšin they could do nothing. She ground them underfoot, four crushed with each step she took. The khashetta skittered back into their holes.
The Crown of the Abyss sent its clinging khashetta against Samšin. They were the ones that feed on the blood of the slothful; against fierce Samšin they could do nothing. She tore them apart with her teeth, four torn to shreds with each bite. The khashetta slithered back into their holes.
Then the Crown of the Abyss sent its swift khashetta against Samšin. They were the ones that shriek in the ears of the ignorant, tormenting them with all the things they do not know. Against these khashetta she had no defense. Samšin swung her mace; she struck out with her claws. Her blows passed through the khashetta as if they were mist. They shrieked in her ears, and she ceased to fight. The Crown of the Abyss turned Samšin to stone and set her to one side, and there she stayed.
Tablet VIII: “The Nahri Tablet”